The Wreckage
by kaleidica
Summary: Sirius smelled the wreckage first. It was the soft scent of smoke, mixed with the exhaust of the motorbike and the sharp cool wind on his face. He thought he was smelling cigarettes, until Godric's Hollow came into view.


The Wreckage

Sirius smelled the wreckage first. It was the soft scent of smoke, mixed with the exhaust of the motorbike and the sharp cool wind on his face. He thought he was smelling cigarettes, until Godric's Hollow came into view.

The smoke was billowing above the houses like that of a thousand chimneys. There were many possible explanations for this, but only one stood out to Sirius, made his chest constrict and his breathing stop, made his hands clench the motorbike as it fell, fell, fell from the sky, as he had suddenly lost all control and found himself hurtling to the ground. He leaned forward and dove into the smoke, and when he came out, he saw it.

Ten feet from the ground, he jumped off the vehicle and landed on his feet, breaking his right foot but still running toward the house. He barely registered the pain as he focused on reaching the second floor which was all but gone, which must be where _they_ are, and he needed to get there, and will the door be open—?

Sirius had stretched both his hands forward to push through the front door, when he unexpectedly was pulled backward, though his arms continued to reach. It would have been comical, except…

"There's nothin' yeh can do now, Sirius."

Sirius turned to see Hagrid on the lawn, and James and Lily's lawn, in front of their smoldering house, with the dark mark above it and _they must still be inside_—

In an instant, Sirius had turned back to the door, but the giant hand had seized him again.

"_No_."

And at that, he crumpled.

"James!" he bellowed. Sirius was on his knees in the grass, leaning forward and gripping the dirt. "James," he cried again. "James!"

Sirius pushed his hands into his eyes, and the noises coming from his mouth surely weren't his. He moaned, deep and gurgling. He sensed a form kneel next to him, felt its hand on his back.

"And Lily," Sirius whispered. "And Harry."

He tried to breathe, but his breath kept catching in the back of his throat. His moans gave way to sobs.

"Sirius," said Hagrid. "It's gonna be okay, yeh know."

Sirius rocked back and forth, gripping his knees.

"Dead. _Dead_." He tugged at his hair, ripping out large chunks, which he threw to the ground. They fluttered in the wind, falling a few feet away.

"Harry's alive."

"James," said Sirius.

He thought of James, not as he was as an adult, but of 16-year-old James and him, running through the castle, away from Filch. James reaching into his robes and throwing their dirty and invaluable bit of parchment behind him, so the caretaker would stop his chase to examine it instead. So that Sirius wouldn't get caught—_I'm afraid another stunt will mean expulsion_, Dumbledore had said, after Sirius' worst prank. Remus had forgiven him eventually, but Peter hadn't ever forgiven James for throwing the map away—Peter had...Peter. PETER.

Sirius screamed, fury boiling beneath his skin, inside his very heart. He wanted to rip Peter, tear him, hear his screams and watch as his bones broke. At this thought, Sirius' foot throbbed, and the pain, no longer latent, came tearing into his brain. He took out his wand and wordlessly silenced his foot. He stood. He would be the friend to James and Lily and Harry that he should have been, and he would act with his wand. Or perhaps a knife. Or maybe-

"Did yeh hear me? Harry's alive."

At this, Sirius turned, his face streaked with tears and snot.

"What?"

"Yeh," said Hagrid, who was still kneeling in the lawn. "Yeh!" he said, and he laughed a little, and looked down to his arms, where, sure enough, a baby lay.

Sirius fell to the ground again, crawled toward Hagrid, and put his face right up to the baby boy.

Baby Harry grabbed Sirius' hair, and put it in his mouth. The boy smiled with his mouth full and put his small hand on Sirius' nose, and squeezed.

"Got my nose," whispered Sirius. Sirius leaned closer, and kissed Harry's forehead. He vaguely noticed a new scar that hadn't been there before.

"Can I hold him," said Sirius forcefully. It was more of a statement than a question.

Wordlessly, Hagrid handed Harry to Sirius. The baby had already been holding his hands out for his godfather.

Sirius hugged Harry tightly, squeezing him to his chest like one would squeeze a beloved stuffed animal. Harry coughed.

"Harry," he said, and he cried, softer than before.

He couldn't stop imagining the dead bodies of his best friends. But here was Harry. He held him away from his body, greedily staring into Harry's tiny face. The hatred in him was slowly falling away, like dead leaves in the winter.

"I can take him," Sirius heard himself say. "I want to. Let me."

"Well, I'm under strict orders—"

Sirius' stomach fell, but then he remembered.

"No, Hagrid, it's fine. I'm his _godfather_. _They_ made me his godfather. That's what that means, I'll take him, and I'll take care….we'll take care of each other."

Sirius smiled at Harry, though it looked more like a grimace. Baby Harry gurgled, and swatted at Sirius, drool dripping away from his smile. Sirius kissed his forehead again.

"No, Sirius,"

I'm his godfather, Hagrid"

"No. _Dumbledore_, Sirius."

And at this, Hagrid stretched out his arms to take the child.

Sirius blanched. He slowly gave Harry back to Hagrid, and as he did so, he whimpered. He broke down into tears again.

"It's okay, Sirius, it's okay. It was quick, an' Harry's here, and You-Know-Who's gone…"

"He's gone?"

"Yeh. He couldn't kill Harry."

Sirius didn't ask why, but instead stroked Harry's cheek.

Now that Harry was out of his arms, he could feel the murder stealing over him again.

"I best be going, Sirius. My Muggle-repelling charm isn't that strong to last much longer, and I think we'll be taking the Underground—"

"No," and it was Sirius this time who spoke. "Take my bike."

He stood, and motioned toward the motorbike lying on its side some 20 feet away in the street.

"Nah, I couldn' do tha', yeh love that thing—"

"Love," repeated Sirius.

Hagrid watched him.

"I—I won't be needing it anymore."

He fell to his knees, a sickening crack renting the night air as his kneecaps connected with the ground. He breathed out. _God help him_.

Another crack in the night, and Sirius was gone.

Hagrid was still staring at the place where Sirius had been, until Baby Harry began to cry at the noise of Disapparition—or maybe he noticed his godfather had disappeared.

"Shh," said Hagrid. "It's gon' be okay."


End file.
